


We Like You Better This Way

by smutgusher



Category: Spider-Man (Ultimateverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Broken Bones, Brutality, Character Death, Choking, Extremely Underage, Forced, Gang Rape, Kidnapping, M/M, Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Rape Aftermath, Rough Sex, Sadism, Sexual Abuse, Torture, Verbal Abuse, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2020-09-28 14:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20427416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutgusher/pseuds/smutgusher
Summary: You're gonna want to read the tags on this.Miles gets kidnapped. Bad things happen to him, and he doesn't enjoy it.





	1. Chapter 1

The blindfold finally came off Miles. His chin itched where it dug into the carpet, and his wrists, arms and legs ached from being hog-tied.

He screamed into his ball gag when an adult foot booted him in the stomach. Hot tears shot into his eyes.

"You fucking pain in the ass. Shut the fuck up."

Something splattered on his face. It was spit.

Miles sniffed, holding back the sobs.

Another voice behind him. "You wanna start now, or...?"

"Yeah," said the first man. He tugged at the collar of Miles' suit, the mask long gone, and then there was the sound of tearing cloth as the man cut through the spandex.

The boy cried softly when the scissors slid down his ass, cutting away his pants and underwear, and yelped when a large, rough finger was pushed into his ass.

"That's more like it. And I told you to shut the fuck up. I won't tell you a third time."

The man removed his belt and unzipped his trousers. A brief _schlick_, covering his cock with lube, a tap at the teen's virgin asshole, and with no further ceremony, he slammed into Miles and started to fuck him.

"HNNNNNNNNNNNGH!" Miles screamed into the gag, followed by an "oof" when the man raping him punched him in the back of the head.

He faced the ground, staring at every fiber in the carpet. The man was rough and uncaring, hitting parts inside his ass that made him feel like his guts were being torn open.

"Yeah, you fuck. Can't zap or web anyone now with those hands wrapped up behind your back, huh?"

Nails dug into his sides. He whined, hoping the noise wouldn't count, and was rewarded with a hand around his neck which began to squeeze.

He swallowed desperately, trying with all his might to get control over his breathing, made even more difficult by the fingers digging into his windpipe.

He closed his eyes, crying uncontrollably, took in as much breath as he could, and held it there. The rapist's cock stirred his insides painfully, but he tried to think of something, anything else than what was happening at that moment.

"Oh no, that's not gonna work anymore," said the man. He slid his hand to the back of Miles' head, and slammed the invisible boy's face into the carpet. Like a faulty video connection, Miles flickered back into visibility again with a whine.

The man grunted, slammed into Miles one last time, and shot his slimy load into the boy, letting go of his throat. Miles felt the warm cum flowing into his bruised ass, and let out the breath he had been holding, coughing and spluttering.

"You better not fucking make a mess on the floor, or you can clean that shit up with your tongue," said another man. He stepped around Miles, squatting down to eye level.

"Look at all this shit on his face," he muttered, grabbing the boy by the chin and forcing his head up. With a rough piece of paper towel, he wiped the tears and snot away. He unlatched the ballgag and pulled it away. Miles ran his tongue around his mouth and flexed his stiff jaw.

Then he stood up. His pants dropped to the ground, and he kicked them away. He sat down in a nearby armchair, pulled his cock out of his underwear and pointed at it.

"You're gonna give me a blowjob. It better be a good one."

Miles didn't move, fearful and confused. A foot slammed into his side, and he screamed, rolling across the floor.

"Get the fuck over there, you fucking piece of shit," yelled the other man.

Slowly and painfully, he wiggled his way across the carpet.

"This piece of shit kid is supposed to be Spider-Man," the man continued. "Always supposed to get up, but he can't get his ass--" a firm kick in his lower back, and Miles rolled over in a fetal position, "across one fuckin' room."

Grabbing him by the neck, he dragged the boy over to the armchair where his other assailant sat.

"You took so fuckin' long gettin' over here, I'm all soft. So you're gonna get me hard right now," said the man in the chair.

Miles had seen enough videos online to have some idea of what to do, but he was still tied up and draped over an arm of the squashy leather chair. He strained forward, craning his neck and hoping he could nudge a little closer to the man's cock.

He slid forwards. The man in the chair grabbed him by the back of the head and smushed the boy's face into his crotch. Miles opened his mouth and sucked in the head.

The taste was foul, and he retched involuntarily. In reaction, the cock began to harden, and before Miles could pull away, a hand pushed his head down on the lengthening cock. At full hardness, it had reached the back of his throat, just before it reached the zone of his gag reflex.

That meant that he *wanted* to gag, but he couldn't.

"Good boy."

Miles sucked his cock. He enjoyed none of it, but he began to understand what he'd seen a thousand times, as much as any young teen with access to the internet. He pursed his lips and bobbed up and down the shaft, and in turn, the man in the chair humped into his mouth.

Despite everything, Miles was actually getting into it, pushing everything out of his mind except what he had to do. If his hands weren't tied, he would have grabbed the man's thighs and dove all the way in, just to get it done as quickly as possible.

The hand behind his head kept him in place, kept the pace steady. He awkwardly licked his way up the shaft and drank down the precum, which at least tasted a little better than the rest of the cock.

An eternity later, the man sped up, held the boy's head nose to crotch hair and came.

It didn't taste bitter, just musky and salty. Miles accepted the load into his mouth, but didn't swallow. Off-white cream leaked from the corners around the penis, sliding down his chin.

The man noticed. "Hey, hey, you'd better swallow that."

Miles grimaced. There was no way he wanted to do that.

"You think this is the worst thing that can happen? Swallow it down, you little cockslut."

The boy closed his eyes, focusing on the taste in his mouth. He took a deep breath through his nose, and forced down the mouthful of cum.

"Next time, don't take so fucking long."

Then the man pushed him off the armchair and stood up, grabbing his pants on the way. Miles landed hard on his back and winced from the shock.

Stepping into his pants, the man kicked the boy out of the way and went out of sight. Then, from the back of his head, he felt the strap attach. The ball tapped at his lips, and the rough fingers pinched his nose, hard, forcing his mouth open and the ball into it.

The other man came into view.

"Miles Morales, huh?"

Spider-Man's eyes widened.

"Ain't that hard to find where you live. You're lucky we like you more when you're alive."

Through the gag, the boy started to hyperventilate in panic.

"So you're gonna say nothing. Which is funny, since you talk so much. You're gonna say nothing, and any time we come get you, you're gonna do exactly what we tell you."

And with that, he picked the boy up in his arms and laid him down in a large black bag. A body bag.

The last thing Miles would see for a while was the zipper closing over the top.

* * *

It felt like hours. He was bumped and shifted around, he slid up and down the body bag, before being dumped on hard floor somewhere. Something closed, probably a trunk. He heard muffled voices, and eventually the distinct roar of a car engine.

The thrumming of the motor went all the way through him. The air was stuffy. He could smell the fumes too.

The car eventually stopped. He could hear the trunk open, and then he saw the body bag unzip.

Two men loomed over him in ski masks. They paused for a moment, looking down at him, before grabbing him again and hauling him out of the trunk.

Miles was naked in the warm city air, obscured from the public by the car stopped in the small side alley they were currently in.

With one arm, one of the men opened a dumpster on the side of the street. They swung Miles back and forth and launched him into the trash.

The car drove away.

Miles sobbed into the ballgag.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles isn't coping with the reality of what's happened to him. Poor Miles.

"You were gone for two days, Miles!" yelled Jefferson, putting a heavy emphasis on the last three words. "You weren't answering your phone, I had to call the school and _they_ didn't know where you were, your mother's been going crazy, I--"

Then Jeff caught the expression on Miles' face and stopped, his mouth hanging open mid-word. He'd seen it too many times on other people's faces to not know exactly what it was.

After the kind of deep sigh that only a parent could make, Jeff tried to change course and say something more reassuring. But before another syllable left his mouth, Miles bumped past his dad and ran into his room.

He slumped onto his bed and rubbed his rope-bitten wrists, staring into the ceiling. There was no way he could explain what had happened in the last 40 hours. He still hurt all over. He stank of trash. He was so tired.

It was humiliating. Every part of it was humiliating. And yet, he could only focus on the last two hours of his ordeal, lying nestled between the revolting rotting trash, tears in his eyes and vomit running down his chin around the ballgag. He'd been forced to swallow a lot of it again to avoid suffocation, and the foul taste lingered in his mouth.

There was also the whole how-he-got-out-the-trash part. He knew without a doubt he would tell no-one about what happened, but if he _had_ to, how was he going to explain it?

Would he say that he got lucky, that the garbage truck showed up and someone looked in, saw the poor abused boy in there, cut his bonds and gave him something to wear home? Crying into a strangers shoulder in the cab of a garbage truck?

Or would he just say that he somehow wiggled free, loosening the ropes like a teenage Houdini and escaping into the city streets? But how would he explain not being seen in the middle of a busy city day? That would just lead to more questions.

It was better to say nothing.

Miles was sullen and withdrawn at mealtimes for the remainder of the weekend. His mom and dad said nothing more about his unexplained absence, which helped him push it down a little.

On Monday morning, he hugged his parents goodbye.

"You know you can always talk to us about anything, right?" Jeff murmured into his son's ear.

Miles stiffened in his father's arms, and after a long, reluctant pause, responded: "Yeah, I know Dad."

He walked to Visions alone, his eyes glancing into every side street and a wince of anticipation building in his chest for a spider-sense alert that wasn't coming.

There was a test in the first class. The printed piece of paper seemed to stretch off into the infinite distance. He tried to focus on the first question, the second question, any question, but all he could think of was...

His throat constricted, and he swallowed hard. He bent his head over the piece of paper. Despite the slightly-too-cold AC, sweat rolled down his nose. The clock on the wall ticked away.

Forcing the memories back, he reached through the fog and answered the questions on the paper.

By the time the bell rang for lunch, he was drenched in sweat.

He wasn't hungry. He needed air.

After splashing some water on his face, Miles stepped outside the school gates. He rubbed his chest, feeling the skin-tight suit under his clothes. It was not as well worn as the now-destroyed original, so it chafed in weird places.

He hadn't done a lot of web-slinging during school hours. There was clothes in his backpack, so he ducked into an alley and changed.

A moment later, he swung upwards onto the rooftops, running and jumping his way north-east.

It was odd how something so public could be such a good way to spend time with himself. New Yorkers normally avoided Manhattan, but the vertical freedom that came with being Spider-Man let Miles make the most of the skyscrapers that gave the city its classic skyline.

From the ground, phones snapped and people pointed. In the sky, there was Miles.

Miles looked down. His spider-sense dug into the back of his head. "Oh man," he complained, before a garbage truck came sailing towards him.

Just in time, he drew two thick strands of web and dropped out the way, catching the truck before it could hit anything. He diverted the momentum from his fall towards the ground into a swing underneath the truck, linking more strands to hold it in place.

"HELLO, SPIDER-MAN."

What the hell was Venom doing here?

"What the hell are you doing here?" huffed Miles, landing on top of the secured vehicle.

"YOU SMELL A LITTLE... DIFF-ER-ENT TODAY. I HAD TO COME SEE WHO IT WASSSS."

"Well, uh, cool. Hi, it's me, Spider-Man, on my lunch break."

"AH YESSS... LUNCH. NOW THAT'S A GOOD IDEA. I DO LIKE THE TASSSSTE OF SPIDER."

Thank goodness for the reflexes and sharp eye making up for the lack of spider-sense when Venom was around. Judging by the 25 ton hello, though, he clearly wanted to attract his attention.

"A garbage truck to the face is a hell of a greeting, Venom. What do you _really_ want?"

Miles' brain caught up with the rest of him. Garbage truck. Garbage tr--wait, FUCK-

"OH SSPIDER-MANNN. YOU'VE HAD A ROUGH WEEKEND."

The boy slipped on the building he'd attached himself to. His mouth dried out. How did he know?

"Y-you..." he stammered, trying to think of a comeback.

"IT'SSS NOT JUST THE TRASH YOU SSSMELL LIKE, SPIDER-MAN."

Miles blinked, and Venom was on him. His long tongue slipped under his mask, licking all over his face.

"YESSSSSSSSS. I KNOW THAT TASSSSTE."

Hot, frustrated, fearful tears jumped into Miles' eyes. Venom had pinned his body against the office block, and he could feel the hairline cracks forming in the window behind him. He glanced through it, and the people inside were getting out quickly.

He unstuck a shaking hand from the glass, and brought it up to his enemy's jaw. The venom strike, while not counting for much, was enough of a distraction that the grip on Miles' chest loosened and he fell.

Spider-Man latched onto both sides of the street to control his momentum. He kept the web flowing, awkwardly and haltingly letting himself down to the ground.

He looked up. Venom was gone. The garbage truck still hung between the two skyscrapers, but he'd let the cops deal with that.

* * *

He'd already missed the first class of the afternoon by the time he left Manhattan, but he still had to take his out-of-the-way route to avoid getting tracked. A very exhausted Miles dropped into the alley back in Brooklyn where he'd left his bag.

He pulled off his mask, pulled off his home clothes. While his shirt was over his head, his spider-sense pinged.

There was no time. He received a blow to the knees with a metal bat, and collapsed with a howl of pain.

The shirt was pulled off again. Two men came into focus above him.

"Oh no."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miles is violently raped again at the hands of his kidnappers.

A cold bucket of water over the head woke Miles up. He coughed and retched, spitting out the gritty liquid.

Separately, his pants were wet. He'd pissed himself while he was out cold, and his shorts clung to him, making them itch.

His hands and legs were tied together. He shivered on the freezing concrete, almost completely naked thanks to the position he'd been caught in.

"Not again, not AGAIN!" he whimpered. No ball-gag this time.

"Oh no, you gotta do better than that," a unpleasantly familiar voice spoke above him. Then a kick to the stomach rolled him from onto his back, landing on his bound-up hands.

"No, not _oof_," the man said in response to Miles' gasp. He kicked him in the back.

"Rrrrrrrrrrrgh!" Miles yelled through the pain, tears jumping into his eyes. He collapsed onto his side again, hard concrete digging into his ribs.

Then the man kicked him in the stomach again.

The last meal Miles ate forced its way up from the depths and he vomited. His cheeks and mouth dripped with his own foul-smelling acidic spew.

"Filthy fucking thing," the man sneered.

Another hatefully familiar voice. "This little fuck just won't sing, will he? Keeping it all in, like a good little hero."

He was pushed onto his stomach. His chest rolled into the pool of vomit. He looked from side to side desperately, trying to see what they were doing.

The other man planted a foot on the side of his ribcage and pressed down. Miles' breath quickened, and he began to hyperventilate. Then his vision went white with pain. A muffled, wet cracking noise rose from the floor.

This was because the other man had raised his foot and stomped down on his ribcage. Hard.

"NGGGGGGGGGGGGH!" Miles screamed through clenched teeth.

"God, finally. Sounds just like when you fucked him," he remarked. He leaned into his foot, pushing it into the broken rib.

Miles yelled.

"Oh, I love it!" exclaimed the first man, his cock tenting his pants. He dropped them and grabbed the bulge through his grey-stained white briefs. He kneeled down, tracing a hand over Miles' buttocks, and then slipped under the leg of his shorts.

He found the boy's asshole and pushed a dry finger in.

Tears rolled down Miles' face uncontrollably. Uninvited, the memories of the weekend came back. He retched again, bringing up nothing but throat-burning stomach acid.

The hand wrapped around his neck, just like it did before.

The wet slap of lube, and a burning spike pushing into him. Just like before. Stabbing into his guts. Fucking him.

With every thrust--and it was a hard, cruel thrust every time, like a blunt knife--Miles groaned in pain. Every thrust pushed his chest into the puddle of vomit, and the unmistakable smell filled his nostrils.

The other man kneeled down, grabbing the boy by the chin. He turned the tear-streaked face from side to side, and pulled back.

"Let's do something about those arms."

He walked to the opposite side from Miles' broken rib, and pulled his arms up from his back. He planted a foot on his shoulder, pushing it firmly into the unyielding floor.

Then with two hands wrapped around his small forearm, he yanked.

Miles' voice finally broke, reducing his screams and cries to weak, breathy sobs and coughs. The arm popped out of its socket, dislocating it. The hand around his throat released, and his head bounced off the floor. Pain blossomed from the spot on his forehead that hit the deck. Something wet slowly rolled down from it.

He knew it was blood.

Then the world exploded.

The hands holding onto his waist, holding his rapist in place, suddenly released after a black smear flew past a corner of his vision. There was a scream, cut off, followed by a sickening crunch.

"No, no, no-no-nonono..." someone begged. A soft crack, and a fluid-filled cough, and then silence.

Venom grabbed Miles, a single hand enclosing the boy's entire torso. He scooped him off the floor.

"SSSSSSSSPIDER-MANNNNNNNNN."

Miles mumbled, and coughed. "Mmm... V-Venom."

He was holding him tight. Too tight. Yet, this was gentler treatment than at the hands of the duo, now bloody smears across the room.

"I guess that's over," he breathed. Then he looked up. Venom looked down.

The pain of the broken rib throbbed in his chest. The dislocated arm was a searing, burning feeling. Both made worse by the symbiote's grip.

Venom got close--really, really close--and took a long sniff. That endless grin filled the air above him.

"FEAR. YOU FEAR ME, SPIDER-MAN. DO YOU KNOW HOW I FOUND YOU?"

"I--" Miles sucked in a breath.

"YOU SMELL DIFF-ER-ENT WHEN YOU'RE IN PAIN."

"Right." His voice was strained, working through the pain. His aloof attitude hid something else. "So like--"

"PAIN. FEAR. DE-LICIOUS BLOOD."

"Nothing gets past this guy, does it?" Miles gasped, his breath shallow. Venom's long tongue lashed over his face, lapping up dried blood.

"YOU DON'T LOOK LIKE HIMMM, BUT YOU TASTE THE SAME. SUCH A GOOOOOD TASSSTE."

Miles was starting to get a headache. The fear was eating at him, a tight ball of nightmares in his chest.

He began to struggle. The monster made his move, sweeping out of the concrete cell and out into the city.

"You're supposed to get up. C'mon," Miles said to himself. "You're Spider-Man."

But his remaining working arm was sluggish. His legs kicked without energy, despite the rush of adrenaline.

_Use your venom strike, Miles_, he told himself.

But he didn't.

The wind whipped around his face. The wound on his forehead had scabbed over, removing the feeling from it.

They reached a rooftop. Venom dropped him. He landed on his side.

_Use your venom strike, Miles!_ his consciousness screamed at him.

His hands were tied up in knots, but he managed to brush his fingers against the rope and concentrate.

The binds burned away, and his dislocated arm flopped to the side. He awkwardly scrambled back from Venom's looming presence.

"SSSOMETHING ELSSSSE. HMM. THIS... _CHANGES_ THINGS."

Miles' heart was beating fast against his partly-healed chest. He backed all the way up to the edge of the building.

Venom got close, an inch away from Miles' face. Those blank eyes filled his entire vision. Then the symbiote looked _down_.

"YOU LIKE IT, SSSPIDER-MAN."

Miles could feel his face getting warmer. He did _not_ like it.

"Eyes not working the way they should, Venom?" deflected Miles.

His cock strained in his pants.

He didn't want it. Of course he didn't want it.

Fuck.

"I ASSURE YOU, I SEE EVERYTHING."

The tongue, again snaking towards him. Coming to taste him. Coming to lick him clean, coming to--

No, that was enough. He leaned backwards, dropping off the roof, and landed hard on his back. He looked up to the light-polluted sky and waited.

Nothing.

He waited a little too long in place, before stiffly reaching over and breaking the ropes tieing his legs together. He grabbed his dislocated arm firmly with his other hand and braced himself.

"Hhhhhhhhhhhh," Miles whined through the explosion of pain. A disgusting pop was the sound of the arm pushing back into place.

He rose to his feet gingerly and turned invisible, slipping out of the alley and around the block.

Venom didn't follow.

He couldn't stop crying. He just couldn't stop, and he was a mess, covered in blood and vomit and tears and Venom's fucking spit, his pants still damp with piss. He hurt all over, especially... especially there, where that man had...

And he was hard. He was _still_ hard, a full-blown erection in his pants that would not go down. He'd been scared and paralyzed and powerless. The very worst had happened to him over the past few days, and he hated every minute, and He. Was. _Hard_.

He... he wasn't _supposed_ to like it.

Right?


	4. Chapter 4

Miles couldn’t stop thinking about the smell. Not the smell of Venom, his saliva, his weird, unplaceable musk, but his own. The smell of fear, radiating off his body so hard it reached even his nostrils. 

His body’s response to that made no sense to him at all, and his mind buzzed at all hours as to what that could _mean._

Well, truthfully, he knew, but he didn’t even want to say it in his head, a vain hope that leaving it unsaid would mean it was somehow untrue. But when his brain even brushed against the borders of the subject, his throat and chest and heart constricted. 

It _was_ true. He didn’t have the energy to so much as think about it, to interrogate what it meant, least of all to acknowledge it. 

He wasn’t doing well in school, at all. As much as he tried, he had no idea how he had so much at his fingertips, but so little capability to use it. He knew all this stuff, yet when he stared at the thin slip that was the test he had to do that day, barely any of it was coming out. 

God damn it, he was a _superhero,_ he thought. In contrast with that other thing lurking in the back of his mind, that was so much easier to admit to himself. 

The bell rang, and when he looked down at the page, he’d answered barely a third of the questions on it. He walked up to the teacher, and even as he did, a part of him thought he should just turn around and head for the exit, not even bothering to hand in the test. 

He did anyway, and escaped Visions, hoping to find comfort in the streets and in the sky, hoping to clear his mind and push the angry hive of turmoil away for just a little while. And this time, he was luckier. He cringed internally each time he swung past the first few blocks, anticipating something sailing towards him, but for such a supposedly crime-filled city, New York was quiet. 

_Almost too quiet, _ he said to himself. But he had to admit, sometimes you just had to enjoy things as they were. Music blasting out of open windows (someone was playing Biggie, and he swallowed hard at the reminder of his uncle), the beeping of car horns, open stores and chatter on the streets. It was Brooklyn as he loved it. It was life. 

He jumped down into the alley he’d left his clothes, pulling off the bag he’d webbed to the wall. 

He heard it, he smelt it, but his spider-sense was silent, and that’s how he knew that Venom was behind him. His heart sped up into panic. 

“What do you want, Venom?” Miles dropped his bag, but didn’t turn around. 

“I COULD ASK THE SAME OF YOU, SSSPIDER-MAN.” 

Miles had a witty retort all ready to go, but his breath caught in his chest as he inhaled, and he just couldn’t get it out. He turned to face Venom. 

Venom was _so_ close. 

And a clawed hand rose up from the symbiote’s body, catching Miles under the chin. In response, Miles did nothing. He felt that danger, his extremely human instinct screaming at him, and his spider-sense still saying _nothing. _

The tongue snaked out from between those dagger-like teeth, and Miles squinted as it touched to his cheek, rolling down his face and snaking its way under the seam that joined his mask to his suit. 

And suddenly, Miles was swept up in the symbiote’s huge arms, bringing him level with his face. The tongue withdrew, Venomwithdrew, and just kept going and going back until the giant toothy maw revealed a very human face, with the most desperate look that Miles had ever seen. 

Miles finally found enough presence of mind to exhale, the changing words in his throat tumbling out. 

“So, what should I call you?” 

“E-Eddie,” the man blurted out. “Spider-Man, we–” 

The blood roared in Miles’ ears. He raised a hand to the sickly-looking man’s face, reaching inside that huge mouth with the man inside to touch _his_ cheek in turn. Then he leaned in, taking an exaggerated look up close. His nostrils filled with the scent of fresh blood, stale saliva, and that intoxicating musk that filled his dreams and daydreams. 

“Eddie, huh?” Miles mused. He brought his hand up to the older man’s face again, tracing it under his chin, watching the blackened veins that connected with the symbiote throb and pulse. 

Miles pulled his mask up, just enough to reveal his mouth, and hooked a finger under Eddie’s lower lip. 

“You remind me of someone I knew. He was just like me.” 

And he leaned in, touched his lips to Eddie’s, and dove in with his tongue. 

Eddie’s eyes widened for a moment, then relaxed as he joined in, offering no resistance to the hormonal teen’s kiss. 

Miles’ heart was beating a thousand times a minute, overriding the primal fear that was attempting to force him back and away from the monstrous human that he was connected to. Every nerve screamed danger. 

Something thick and fluid flowed over his chin, and the tongue he was wrestling with lengthened in his mouth, twisting around his own and gliding towards the back. 

“SWALLOW,” said a familiar voice. 

He did. His immediate reward was the sensation of that long, slimy tendril pushing down his throat. He stifled a gag, wrapping his arms around the back of that giant head and letting Venom in. 

“EDDIE LIKES YOU, LITTLE SPIDER. HE LIKES YOU A LOT.” 

Miles was so hard. His hips thrust into the space between them. His chin dripped with Venom’s spit, his fingers dug into the top of his head, and he just didn’t want it to stop. It was the most comfort he’d had in a long time. 

Neither of them were sure who broke the kiss. Miles fell back with a groan, swallowing lungfuls of air instead of lengths of tongue, and Venom let it hang free, a bright contrast against his slick, pitch-black body. 

“WE LIKE YOU TOO. ESPECIALLY LIKE THIS.” 

“Don’t get any ideas, Venom,” Miles retorted. 

Venom’s face was a permanent grin, but he swore it widened in response to that. 

“OH SPIDER-MAN,” said Venom, his normally gravelly voice even more booming than usual. “YOU HAVE THE BEST IDEAS OF ALL.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Miles. I got you a boyfriend.


End file.
